CURLY GIRL RUNS: Mother Nature’s adventure race

Not Since Moses Run filled with natural thrills crafted when dinosaurs roamed the earth

CurlyGirlRuns columnist Deborah Wiles runs on the mud and sand exposed at low tide after the Bay of Fundy drains from Minas Basin. (JAYSON TAYLOR)

Dear Mother Nature,

Storm brewer. Sun worshipper. Rainbow creator. You already have an impressive number of titles but I note that you have added one more to your resume.

Race course designer.

Make that master racecourse designer. Because I understand you are responsible for the Not Since Moses Run on Sunday in Cumberland County. Oh sure, race founder Dick Lemon is the brains behind the operation but you provide the beauty.

And oh, what a spectacle it is.

The five- and 10K courses are run from Five Islands, near Parrsboro, home to the highest tides in the world. According to Bay of Fundy Tourism, 100 billion tonnes of seawater flow in and out of the Bay of Fundy with every tide and that the tide can drop 15 metres in some places.

So much water flows out, in fact, that for a few short hours the ocean floor is exposed, revealing a perfect terrain for a race. Which is where you come in.

So special is the course you designed, it is only accessible on the lowest tides of the year. Sure, anyone can carefully venture out onto the moonscape on any given day, but to get several hundred runners out there and back safely before the water comes rushing in requires one exceptionally low tide a year.

Sunday was that day.

As a race provider, you have to be imaginative in order to attract runners, don’t you? They are a savvy bunch and getting more and more demanding every year. Used to be runners were satisfied with navigating a few city streets and dodging wayward cats.

Not anymore. Now runners flock to races that include navigating mud-filled pits and dodging obstacles that shoot out fancy colours.

All those upstart races attract runners by artificially creating what comes naturally to you. Your race course has been filled with thrills since dinosaurs roamed the Earth.

(Providing an expert to educate runners about the course highlights, such as the fossil-filled cliffs, is a brilliant marketing move, by the way.)

Not only is the beauty astounding, the terrain is varied. Runners have no chance of getting bored on your course, do they?

From firm dirt to barnacle-covered rocks to a coarse, pebble- and shell-filled sand that gives way when runners pass, the footing changes constantly, keeping runners engaged.

But it’s the mud flats where your sense of humour really shines. It’s a clever trick, Mother Nature: insert an obstacle that rewards quicker runners and punishes those who slow to a walk.

“Whatever you do, keep moving!” yells one runner to her friends as they approach the dark, oozing mud. “Don’t stop!”

In the ankle-deep mud, the slower you go, the more you sink in. The suction of the muck grabs sneakers and sucks them clean off unsuspecting victims. It’s enough to shake smiles out of even the most serious competitor.

And talk about team building: just watch how runners reach out to help others in need. Or maybe they are grabbing at others just to save themselves. No matter. The result is the same — laughter that carries out across the ocean floor until is dissipates into the misty morning air.

Surely that was your intention.

Of course, all great runs have robust cheering sections where weary runners can feed off spectators’ energy.

Four guys handing water from a boat that’s been beached since the tide went out doesn’t at first glance appear to offer much in the way of support.

“You almost got ’er broke now,” one of the men grins, revealing an endearing empathy to the fools running where he likely only ever fishes. “Only six kilometres to go.”

“It’s all downhill from here,” laughs another.

And then, at another checkpoint, two pirates offer the day’s most memorable warning.

Your water hazard is pure genius, Mother Nature. At about the 8K mark, you catch runners when their spirits might be flagging. But wading into the calf-deep water is refreshing. A relief. And besides, it’s just a small stream to ford.

Except that after about 15 minutes of constant effort against the current, the water is now above runners’ knees and it keeps rising, pushing the shore further away. It’s as if runners are on a treadmill: they are putting in lots of effort but getting nowhere.

Ah, it’s the tide! Not content to show runners merely how beautiful you are at low tide, you’re determined to awe them with your high-tide skills as well. How fast, yet graceful, you are, filling the once-exposed sand silently, stealthily.

Impressive.

Runners finally make it across the water obstacle and round the final headland. The finish line is in sight. There’s a rocky shore to pick through and another mud flat. And then you thoughtfully provide a fast-moving stream for runners to clean their shoes and tidy up a bit arriving back in civilization.

With mud-free shoes and freshly scrubbed skin, runners climb the small bank and look for the finish. Only a few hundred metres to go. Between them and the line, though, is a small but effective mud flat and a guarantee that when runners cross the line, they’ll be wearing your colours.